His love of home shines out in an incident at Lake Katrine, where he waited for the boat to carry him across. “It came,” he wrote, “bringing a lot of tourists who were traveling through the Trossacks in the opposite direction. As I was rushing down to the boat I ran right into Rev. M. L. Haines (First Presbyterian Church at Indianapolis), who was rushing up the hill for dear life to get seats on the big brake wagon which was waiting at the hotel. He looked around and grabbed me by the hand, but we hadn’t time for a word. There was his wagon and my boat both waiting and we both rushed on. The wagon and boat, however, were not more than seventy-five yards apart, and we spent the several minutes that elapsed before the wagon started by standing up and waving and making all kinds of friendly signs at each other. There were two ladies with him, but I did not see them until they got up in the wagon with him and joined in the waving. It was like ships passing in the night, but Brother Haines looked awfully good to me just the same.” He was delighted with the beauty and the historic charm of Edinburgh. While passing through Holyrood Palace and looking at the bed in which Mary, Queen of the Scots slept, he was accosted by another Hoosier he had never met but who recognized him. By this time the docility of Smith had passed. He grumbled over the foolishness of tramping about looking at old palaces where dead queens had slept, and at tumble-down shacks in which poets had penned immortal lines. At length, patient though he was, Kern issued his declaration of independence. “Now don’t you pay any attention to my movements in a town or on the trip,” he said, “we haven’t time to argue and we are not here for argument. I am going just where I please and in the way I please and I want you to do the same.” The result was that Smith thereafter spent hours in his room at the hotel writing long letters about places he had not seen, and the remainder in regaling the natives with lurid stories of the greatness of America. “I overheard him,” Kern wrote, “telling the other day how a calf had been carried over two hundred miles in a cyclone.” The travelers went up to London on August 16th, where they went their separate ways, meeting in the evening, and not bothering each other with a recital of their doings of the day. The ancient city fascinated Kern as it had ten years before. I am indebted to Thomas R. Shipp of Washington and Indianapolis for an incident which is interesting in that it again reflects Kern’s love of home and home folks: